Things Best Left Forgotten
by Imadra Blue
Summary: There are some things best left forgotten, especially when someone gets hurt. Everyone makes mistakes; some just do it better than others. A tale of a Jedi Master's attachment to his Padawan. Gen.


**Beta-Reader(s):** Many thanks to my wonderful and gifted betas: Luthe, Neotoma, Gin, and Wendy for their irreplaceable and incredible help with prose and characterization. All remaining mistakes are mine alone.  
**Notes:** This story was originally written for the Star Wars Fuh-Q Fest and contained slash, but I felt a gen version suited the plot better, so I've edited this version to be gen. The love described here is intended to be platonic father/son love. The slash version may be found through my LiveJournal. I follow movie canon primarily, but some EU material is used here. EU material may not be presented exactly as it was in the EU. All allusions to _A New Hope_ and _Return of the Jedi_ are fully intentional. Takes place about eight years prior to TPM.

. . .

Myrkr was a dangerous planet, made even more so by the pirates, smugglers, and slavers who inhabited it. No one with any sort of decent reputation ever went there on purpose. Even the peace-keeping Jedi avoided it - most of the time.

Plie Dane docked his small freighter, the _Starjackal_, onto the cliff-side landing pad by Beorx's palace on Myrkr. At least, Beorx - a slaver wanted in eighteen systems for various unspeakable crimes - would have his entire crime network believing that the over-complicated, unnecessarily grandiose structure of his home was a "palace." To Plie, the place looked like what would happen if a nuna got delusions of grandeur and built itself a house out of the garbage heap it dwelled in. There were other reasons aside from the aesthetics why he didn't care for Beorx's palace or this backwater forest planet; these reasons became very clear as he turned off the _Starjackal_ and tried to focus on his surroundings, only to find that he couldn't. He felt cut off from everything, and that made him nervous.

Plie stopped by a mirror, making sure his appearance was in order. He was an extremely tall man, with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and a sparse black beard covering the lower part of his leonine face. He wore simple black clothing, with black gloves and a vest full of pockets designed to hold anything from narcotics to glowrods. Some called Plie a mercenary, some called him a smuggler, and some even called him a pirate. He preferred the term "freelancer." Unfortunately, most of the people he did business with didn't care about what he preferred. He was used to that by now; after all, they paid him enough to not care.

Shira Tiyes was sitting in the cargo area, giving Plie a resigned look when he entered. She was a very small woman with dark hair and eyes; she wore a red dress that Plie had chosen himself and a red veil over her face. Plie had been paid handsomely to deliver her to Beorx, who would no doubt sell her to a discerning buyer for double the price of what he was paying Plie. Plie expected that, but he couldn't risk directly selling Shira to a higher bidder, because he had a contract. Any good freelancer knew that breaking a contract with Beorx would result in said freelancer's untimely and painful demise. If there was anything Plie Dane wanted to avoid in the galaxy, it was an untimely and painful death.

"Well, we're here," he told her, taking out his blaster. It felt uncomfortable in his hand; he hadn't had to use one in over twenty years. They'd always struck him as crude weapons.

Shira sighed and stood up in one fluid movement, casting a glance at the door. "This place makes me nervous," she said after a moment.

Plie nodded. "You and me both. Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do about it," he told her, then motioned at the door. "Open the hatch and let's get this over with."

Shira proved to be cooperative and opened the hatch without a fuss. Plie, being tall enough to see well over her head, gazed at the open-air landing pad. His sense of unease only grew stronger as he saw the huge trees towering around the area, though he could not say why. The trees were close enough to Beorx's palace so as to brush their leaves against the architecture, but unfortunately could not hide its hideous design.

"Beorx wouldn't know good taste if it jumped up and bit him on his aft gunport," Plie commented dryly, nudging Shira down the ramp with his blaster. He eyed the glittering metallic signs and overly-elaborate trim of the landing pad. "Tacky can't even begin to describe this total offense to architectural design. The Hutts have better taste than this laserbrain."

Two burly guards approached them while Plie made sure the _Starjackal_'s hatch closed properly. Shira watched them with a bored expression, hands resting on her hips. The guards eyed her with interest before the smaller, fatter one turned to speak to Plie.

"Plie Dane?" he asked, his voice shrill and irritating.

Plie glanced down at him, nodding and producing the datapad he was instructed to bring. "I've got the goods, as you can see," he said, waving a hand at Shira.

"She's nice, too. Can she dance as good as she looks?" asked the taller one. He was leering at Shira, his scarred face crinkled up in one of the most unattractive lecherous grins that Plie had ever seen. Shira looked equally unimpressed.

"I'm a man of my word. She's one of the finest dancers in the galaxy. I relieved her from her former owner with some trouble, I might add. I included the costs for those extra expenses," said Plie, pointing at the datapad that the smaller guard was scanning through.

"Beorx'll look it all over. We'll bring you both in and give the girl a test run." The smaller guard tucked the datapad into his pocket and patted it self-importantly. "Hand over the blaster and spread 'em. I gotta make sure you're clean."

"She might run," said Plie, looking at Shira.

She rolled her eyes. "Where am I gonna run, huh? Into the middle of a forest? Or off the side of the cliff? I swear, you low-lifes aren't too bright."

The taller guard roared in laughter, revealing rotted, brown teeth inside his mouth. The smaller guard's belly shook as he laughed. "She's a feisty one, all right. Hand it over, Dane."

Plie sighed and held the blaster out the guard, who took it and shoved it in his belt. The taller guard approached, patting him down. He paused when he got to Plie's chest, staring pointedly at his vest.

"Open it up, Dane, nice and slow. Don't make me shoot you," said the smaller guard, who was now pointing Plie's own blaster at him.

Plie opened his vest, revealing three large glowrods tucked inside of it. "Happy now?"

"What the blinkin' mradhe muck do you need _three_ glowrods for?" asked the smaller guard.

"I'm scared of the dark. What's it to you?"

The taller guard squinted and took one out, shaking it a little before running his fingers up and down its length. He shrugged and put it back. "Checks out," he said.

"It doesn't matter. Let's just get inside before Beorx has a bantha," said the smaller guard, holstering the blaster again. "C'mon, Dane." He motioned for Plie to follow them. The taller guard roughly grabbed Shira by the arm, dragging her along. She glared at him, but didn't put up any resistance.

"So what's your name?" Plie asked the man walking beside him. As they drew closer to the palace, he realized it was worse than he even thought. Odd jutting pieces of durasteel had been "decoratively" placed here and there, presumably to give the palace an edgy feel. Plie thought it made the building look like it had a severe case of durasteel acne.

"Nekt."

"Nice to meet you, Nekt." Nekt grunted, which Plie supposed was what passed for a polite reply around there. "Any other new slaves brought in recently?" Plie asked in as casual a tone as he could manage.

"Not really. Business has been bad since those damn Jedi attacked our last shipment. Lucky for us, Beorx was able to get one of the little Jedi that was involved - a boy. Hell of a pain in the ass, that one. Fights like a wild puuri cat - bites like one, too. Doesn't he, Marve?"

Marve adjusted his hold on Shira and nodded. "Bit Jacor's ear off when he tried to have a go at him. And here I thought Jedi were supposed to be nice."

Plie struggled to contain himself. "Really? A real Jedi?" His voice did not waver, though it was cooler in tone than he would have liked.

Nekt grinned up at him. "Well, not really. One of their whaddayacallems - Paddy-wons or something. This one's old enough to be legal, or almost old enough, but he's still just an apprentice. We'd never be able to keep a real Jedi."

"They're something else. Aren't you worried the real Jedi will come after the boy?" Plie clenched his fists briefly as he imagined driving his fist through Nekt's face. He cherished the image for a moment before reluctantly letting it go.

"Not here. The Jedi stay away from this planet. It messes with their powers. I mean, there's some risk, but Beorx is too fond of that Paddy-won to just let him go."

They passed through the heavily-guarded palace entryway, and Plie almost choked at the sheer assault on his eyes. Unnecessary archways, pornographic paintings of various races, and ridiculous-looking wall fixtures lined the hallway Plie entered as far as he could see. The inside was turning out to be even more hideous than the outside, which was a feat Plie previously hadn't thought possible. He idly wondered if Beorx was blind or really that tasteless.

"That's lucky for Beorx," said Plie in a strangled voice. "How fond of this Padawan is he?"

Nekt shrugged and led him up a flight of stairs that might have been elegant had the banister not been over-carved and painted with the same disregard for those who weren't color-blind as the rest of the palace. "Fond enough that when he found out Jacor tried to have a go at him, he finished what the boy started - shot the other ear off, racked him for a while, then shot him between the eyes. Not that any of us cared. Jacor was a real misery-guts."

Plie decided not to ask exactly what Nekt meant by "racked him," figuring that it couldn't be pleasant. He could hear music now, as loud and tasteless as the palace itself. It sounded as if a collection of tone-deaf Jawas were jumping around on a pile of spare droid parts. When they entered the main hall, Plie was disappointed to see there was only one Jawa in the band, and that they all appeared to be playing on normal instruments. Plie decided whoever told them that randomly banging and twanging on said instruments was good music should be stripped naked, covered in sweetberry sauce, and tied down in front of a oether beehive.

The main hall was painted in a bright red color, trimmed with a bright gold. On the whole, it was every bit as bedizened as the hallway was. It was a huge affair, with large windows that overlooked a glittering blue sea. Plie caught a glimpse of the landing pad and the _Starjackal_ just below the window before he was led to a bar by Nekt. Marve dragged Shira out of the room; she was no doubt going to be given some new outfit and brought out to dance. Plie only hoped she wouldn't have to dance to this music. No one deserved that.

"Have a drink, make yourself at home," said Nekt. "I'll give this to the boss, and he'll settle accounts with you after we make sure she can do what you say she can."

"Right," said Plie, watching Nekt waddle off to talk to one of the other guards. The whole hall was filled all manners of scum, low-lifes, slime, thugs, criminals, and generally unpleasant people. It was Plie's sort of place, at least in spirit. In decor, it was rather like Plie's worst nightmare.

"What'll it be, stranger?" asked the barkeep, a stolid-looking Bothan with a scar running down the side of his furry face.

"A Screaming Sookie, please. With extra sharey juice." Plie sat down at the near a blue-furred Squib who was eyeing him curiously.

The Bothan began to make his drink, speaking as he mixed alcohol with sweet fruit juice. "So what do you think of Beorx's palace?"

Plie considered how to answer, ignoring a fight that broke out behind him between a Wookiee and a Rodian. The Bothan slid the drink over to him, pink fizz along the rim of the glass. Plie smiled as widely as he could. "I can't decide if Beorx should kill his interior decorator or the band first."

The Bothan snorted and glanced at the band, which had moved on to play a song that Plie otherwise might have enjoyed, had they not been so musically inept. "I think the band should go first. At least the interior decoration isn't so loud."

Plie eyed the bright red walls and raised an eyebrow. "Well, at least not audibly so, true."

"I can get used to the awful decorations easier than the awful music."

Plie raised his drink and saluted the Bothan. "To you, my friend, for your incredible fortitude and fine bar keeping skills."

The Bothan shook his head and moved on to serve an Ithorian while Plie sipped at his drink. The sweet sharey juice almost overpowered the harsh taste of alcohol, but not nearly enough for his taste. He personally loathed alcohol, but he knew it might raise a few eyebrows if he didn't have a drink.

When Beorx came out, Plie made sure to keep behind the Wookiee, who had unsurprisingly won the fight with the Rodian. He'd only ever seen Beorx at a distance before, but didn't want to risk being recognized at this point. Beorx looked just like he had when Plie last saw him. He was a tall, sinewy man with a harsh, aquiline face and long black hair. He moved like a predator; his jerky, feral movements made him seem as if he were a child's toy that had been wound too tightly. Beorx wore clothes not dissimilar from Plie's own - simple, black, and designed to conceal weapons and other useful items.

Beorx held a chain in his hand, and he yanked on it violently, urged on by the hoots and catcalls of various members of his less than savory group of acquaintances. He pulled out a young man who wore a metal collar the chain was attached to. Plie sucked in his breath, checking over the youth as best he could from that distance, and to his relief, saw no visible signs of abuse on him. The young man was struggling against his chains, but Beorx was stronger and had the upper hand; the youth was dragged across the floor to where Beorx sat in a chair rather like an ugly throne.

The youth was handsome, with clear blue-gray eyes and a face full of boyish good-looks. His hair was cut in the style of a Jedi Padawan, complete with a tail in the back and a long Padawan's braid hanging over his right ear. Instead of the typical Jedi robes one would expect to see such a young man wearing, he had been put in tight trousers made from a glittering blue material and trimmed with gold ropes. He wore no shoes, and except for a couple of meretricious armbands that resembled golden serpents, he was naked from the waist up. Had it not been for his haircut, Plie could easily have mistaken the young man for a pleasure slave.

The crowd in the main hall roared with laughter as Beorx gave the chain a vicious tug, causing the Padawan to fall on his backside. He glared up hatefully at Beorx; Plie had never seen such an expression on any Jedi, but then, not many Jedi were ever captured alive.

"Behave, boy, and maybe I'll feed you today. Provided you do as I asked you two days ago, of course," said Beorx, his cruel smile twisting his harsh face.

"I'd rather starve to death," the Padawan said, his icy tone a startling contrast to the anger shining in his eyes.

"Your choice," said Beorx in a light tone, though his smile had disappeared. He turned to the crowd, rolling his shoulders. "Where's the merc that brought me the girl?"

Plie stood up, towering over everyone but the Wookiee. He raised one of his arms, downed the rest of his Screaming Sookie in one swallow, and set the glass on the bar. He did not draw closer to Beorx; it was too soon to risk that. Beorx, luckily, didn't appear that interested in him. He kept glancing at the Padawan, who occasionally tugged at his chain and gazed longingly out the window. There was a hunger in Beorx's eyes when he looked at the young man, a hunger that made Plie more unsettled than he already was.

"Have a seat. We'll see if she's as good as you say, and then you'll get what's coming to you," said Beorx, still not paying Plie much attention. Plie detected a veiled threat in Beorx's promise, even as limited as his abilities were at the moment.

The Padawan turned to look at Plie, his eyes going wide in recognition. Plie subtly shook his head once, willing the boy to keep his mouth shut. The Padawan gave the same surprised expression to a few other thugs, and then sagged against his chains, sitting down on a pile of pillows as far away from Beorx as he could manage - which wasn't very far. Beorx pulled the chain absently, as if to remind the youth of his place, and motioned at Marve, who was standing outside of the door Shira had been taken through.

"Bring her out. Let's give her a test run."

Marve nodded and opened the door, reaching inside and pulling out Shira. She'd managed to keep her red veil on - Plie would never know how she'd managed it - but the red dress he'd brought her in had been replaced by a truly awful costume made from a glittering red material with gold-colored trim that matched the walls. It left very little to the imagination. She cast Plie a hateful glare as Marve shoved her out into the middle of the crowd, which cleared a space in the middle for her.

Beorx waved at the band, and they started to play a bawdy tune that was marginally less auditory-challenged than what they had been playing before. Plie saw the Padawan watching her with narrowed eyes, looking as if he were trying to figure out if he knew who she was. She was going to be hard to place with that veil on. Shira gave the Padawan a dismissive glance, glared at Plie once more for good luck, and began to dance.

Plie had no worries about her skill; Shira was a master dancer. She moved about the floor with grace, accentuating every move with sensuality. Most of the male audience went silent, watching her as she moved. Plie ignored her, instead turning his attention to the main hall itself. He looked at every window, every doorway, every wall, mapping it all out in his mind. He spent his time judging the distance of the drop from the balcony outside to the landing pad. He sized up every guard and thug in the room, grateful that only the guards were armed.

When Shira shimmied her way past the smitten men, Plie was ready. He stood up, plastering the same lecherous smile onto his face that the men around him wore. Many of them reached out to touch her, but she danced out of their reach, moving closer to Plie. He reached into his vest, palming two of his glowrods. When he touched her, she let him run his hands over her hips, his fingers sliding down to slip the glowrods under the hem of her skirt. She covered the bulges of the glowrods with her hands, teasing and taunting the other men as she moved away. She moved back towards Beorx, hands never moving from her hips.

Beorx, however, did not look terribly interested in her. He was watching her with the cold eyes of a man sizing up the value of a slab of meat. Judging by how differently he looked at the captured Padawan versus how he looked at Shira, it was very clear to Plie that women did very little for Beorx. Plie practically had her bathe in pheromones before they'd arrived, and Beorx still looked unaffected. However, he was bored - which effectively gave Plie the same advantage he'd been looking for. When Beorx turned to speak to a Twi'lek male standing near him, Shira made her move.

She grabbed the two glowrods under the hem of her skirt and flung one at the Padawan so smoothly that it looked to be part of her dance. She broke the other with one hand, ripping off her veil with the other. "Move it!" she cried, turning on her blue lightsaber, just as the Padawan caught the glowrod tossed at him.

There was a moment of pause from the crowd as they stared at Shira's face, which gave Plie enough time to break open the remaining glowrod, revealing his own lightsaber. Instead of the beautiful face they'd expected Shira to possess, her cheeks were scarred and ravaged, her nose slightly flattened from what was obviously an old wound. An ugly tribal marking was tattooed on her left cheek, but the worst part of her face was her smile. She flashed them more durasteel than enamel; the same fight that had scarred her face had also knocked most of her teeth out. She took advantage of the crowd's shock and swung her lightsaber into the nearest guard, cutting his arms off with the same deadly grace she had employed only a moment before.

The stillness passed, and the crowd realized the Jedi had finally come to claim their own.

. . .

Qui-Gon Jinn gripped the familiar weightless hilt of his lightsaber, thumbing the switch to release the green blade as the shattered pieces of the glowrod fell to the floor.

Qui-Gon was a Jedi Master, but his powers did him no good here. The rumors of the planet Myrkr were true; Qui-Gon felt cut-off from the very Force, and its absence gnawed at him. The Force was like a warm blanket surrounding him with life, death, and everything in between. He'd never had to spend a single moment of the five decades he'd been alive without it until now. He had no access to the great powers he'd spent all that time training to use. It did not matter, though. Master Dooku had taught him well; Qui-Gon was still one of the greatest warriors in the entire galaxy, with or without the Force flowing through him.

Even if he hadn't been a great warrior, Qui-Gon had come here to rescue his Padawan Learner, Obi-Wan Kenobi, or die trying.

He dodged the blaster shots the guards aimed at him slower than he would have liked, but he still moved faster than anyone else in the room, with the possible exception of Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon felt more than a little pride as Obi-Wan swiftly broke open the glowrod and turned his lightsaber on, even as Beorx yanked him closer and trained a blaster on him.

Ulara Tinni, the Jedi Knight that Qui-Gon had selected to play the part of "Shira Tiyes," spun out of the way of a blaster shot with her lightsaber, trying to get to Beorx. Qui-Gon surged toward Beorx as well, sweeping his green lightsaber around him to clear a path. Most of the crowd was already running for their lives. Unfortunately, the most dangerous ones were still there.

Beorx fired his blaster, and Qui-Gon's heart stopped for a moment. To his relief, Obi-Wan ducked the shot and slashed through his chain with his lightsaber, freeing himself from Beorx. Qui-Gon knew on some level that he was dodging a few shots directed at him, his lightsaber passing through the arm of one guard, cutting a blaster in half, stabbing another guard in the shoulder. He paid less attention to his actions, and more attention to Obi-Wan's dodging blaster shots and attacking the guards near him.

"We've got to get out of here, Jinn!" cried Ulara, her lightsaber creating blue arcs of light as she blocked a vibroblade and then relieved a guard of the burden of his head. She used the Djem So, a lightsaber style Qui-Gon found to be too aggressive, even for him. While he had not selected Ulara for this mission for her compassion, she was unnecessarily killing quite a few of Beorx's guards. He knew most of it was due to her lesser experience in battle, but it still bothered him.

"This way!" Qui-Gon shouted over the roar of blaster fire, the hum of swinging vibroblades, the cries of the wounded and enraged alike. He ran through the tangle of guards, diving towards Obi-Wan. He realized Beorx was firing stunning shots at Obi-Wan, cursing furiously. When he saw Qui-Gon coming at him, his eyes widened in recognition.

"You're not Plie Dane!" he screamed, thumbing his blaster to full power. Qui-Gon spun around as quickly as he could to avoid the ensuing barrage of blaster bolts. His reflexes were stunted; he couldn't sense the danger before it happened. A blaster bolt hit the long-range communicator in his right chest pocket; it saved his life, but Qui-Gon knew the device was fried. Another bolt seared the side of his right arm like a hot brand. The smell of his own flesh burning filled his nostrils.

"Of course I am. Plie Dane is a figment of my imagination," Qui-Gon said, ignoring his wound and rushing at Beorx.

Even without the Force, Qui-Gon was a practitioner of the Atrata and still an extremely athletic, strong, and fast human male. In most cases, that would give him the advantage, but Beorx was just as athletic, strong, and fast - not to mention ten years younger. Qui-Gon slid low, swinging his lightsaber out in a tight green arc. Beorx jumped over the swing, firing at Qui-Gon again with his blaster. He would have hit Qui-Gon, too, if Obi-Wan hadn't swung at him with his freshly cut chain, whipping Beorx across his hands and sending his blaster skidding to the other side of the room.

"Master!" Obi-Wan cried, running to Qui-Gon's side. Beorx pulled out a detonator from one of his pockets, only to drop it when Ulara's lightsaber swung towards him. Beorx rolled away from her attack, running for cover behind his chair.

"Are you two waiting for a good-bye kiss?" cried Ulara, shattering the glass of the largest window with her lightsaber.

Qui-Gon grabbed Obi-Wan by the arm, running to the window. "We were actually waiting for the best chance to make a flashy exit."

"How are we going to jump without the Force?" Obi-Wan asked, ducking more blaster shots. The remaining guards pressed in, still outnumbering them five to one.

Qui-Gon crouched by the window and took out the syntherope he had hidden in the trim of his vest, hooking it to one of the ugly durasteel jutting fixtures outside. He was suddenly grateful for Beorx's horrid taste in architecture. "We're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way, Obi-Wan."

"You and your brilliant ideas, Jinn," said Ulara, grabbing the syntherope and sliding down with a frown on her scarred face. Obi-Wan watched her drop down with horror; a blaster bolt got past his defenses and almost took off his head.

"You're joking," said Obi-Wan.

"Not at all," said Qui-Gon. "Your turn."

Obi-Wan made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whimper, dodging another shot and taking off a guard's arm before grabbing the syntherope and sliding down. Qui-Gon dodged a few shots, reaching down to grab the syntherope just as a vibroblade sliced the side his arm, right under the blaster wound. He cried out, falling out of the window, just barely grabbing the syntherope with his left hand, grateful that his gloves prevented a burn. Qui-Gon swung under the durasteel fixture, staring up at Beorx as he slid down.

"That's twice you moved just in time to avoid the killing blow. Maybe third time's the charm," said Beorx, grinning nastily as he shot at Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon let go of the rope, free-falling along the palace's walls; Beorx's shot missed him by mere centimeters. Beorx cursed a blue streak that would have made a Hutt blush as Qui-Gon fell. Qui-Gon ignored Obi-Wan's cry of "Master!" far below, jabbing his lightsaber into the building and slowing his descent enough to grab onto the syntherope. Even with the gloves, he burned the inside of his hand, coming to a stop less than ten meters off the ground.

Unfortunately, Beorx shot down the syntherope just at that moment. Qui-Gon tried to roll with the drop; he landed on his feet, but he felt a sharp pain in his right ankle, as though someone had just run a vibroblade through it. However, one did not become a Jedi Master by focusing on the body. Qui-Gon ignored the pain, dodging more blaster fire and running to catch up with Obi-Wan and Ulara. They covered for him, lightsabers flashing. They looked slow to Qui-Gon's eyes, but only because he knew how fast they could move when the Force flowed through them.

"Let's go home," said Qui-Gon, running towards the landing pad, favoring his sprained ankle - at least he hoped it was only sprained.

Ulara led the way, pointing at the _Starjackal_ and saying something to Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon couldn't hear what she said, as he was focused on several thermal detonators sailing over them.

Qui-Gon grabbed Ulara with one hand and Obi-Wan with the other, diving on top of them and holding them down on the ground as the landing pad lit up with fire and destruction. He could feel the heat stinging his flesh, and the smoke burned his eyes. He ignored the angry, frustrated feelings that boiled up within him, letting them pass without the aid of the Force as he stood up, yanking both Obi-Wan and Ulara to their feet.

"What are we going to do now?" Obi-Wan sounded slightly panicked.

"Time for a bit of improvising," said Qui-Gon, running towards to the cliff. Guards were already starting to pour out of the palace. Blaster shots streaked past them like deadly fireworks; Qui-Gon was grateful most of the guards' aim was as poor as their weaponry.

"Improvising? Why do I have the feeling I'm not going to like this?" cried Ulara, running after Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment before following, blaster bolts whizzing past all of them.

"I'm open to other suggestions, if you have them."

"What now?" asked Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon halted near the side of the cliff, glancing down at the expanse of the sea below. He gazed out at the horizon, but saw no land. He could feel the Force, if only for a moment, as if it were just out of his reach past the cliff. "We jump."

Obi-Wan froze right where he stood, a blaster shot whizzing right past him. "This is some rescue! When you came in here, didn't you have a plan for getting out?" he asked in an incredulous tone, looking between Qui-Gon and Ulara.

"He's the brains, sweetheart," said Ulara, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she gestured at Qui-Gon and rolled away from another shot.

Everyone was a critic.

"Maybe you'd like to be chained back up to Beorx, my young apprentice?" asked Qui-Gon. His ankle was throbbing, and the side of his arm felt like it was on fire. He continued to ignore it.

Obi-Wan glared at him and ran towards the cliff; there was a flash of silver whipping in the air behind him. Qui-Gon focused on it, realizing it was a durasteel chain, wound with mechanical parts and blinking lights far too late. He cried out, moving to grab Obi-Wan, but he was too slow. The mechchain wrapped itself around Obi-Wan's body, tightening painfully. Obi-Wan's lightsaber fell to the ground, his forward momentum sending him flying off the edge of the cliff. Qui-Gon dived after him without hesitation, but Obi-Wan fell too fast, struggling uselessly against his bonds, unable to even scream as the chain choked him.

The wind whipped past Qui-Gon as he fell, and he suddenly felt the Force around him again, as though he'd just escaped a bubble of nothingness. He felt normal, whole, complete once again - but he had no time to savor the feeling of the Force returning. He switched off his lightsaber, tucking it into his belt just as Obi-Wan slammed into the water, the spray reaching high enough to douse Qui-Gon. He turned his head and caught a glimpse of Ulara falling behind him, deflecting blaster bolts left and right with her lightsaber and Obi-Wan's, the Force aiding her speed and reflexes.

Qui-Gon dived into the water, the salt causing the wounds on his arm to sting as though someone had poured nettlejuice over them. He could see Obi-Wan sinking below him, unconscious from hitting the water so hard. Qui-Gon swam faster, the pain of his wounds receding as he used the Force to focus, to propel his motion forward in order to rescue his drowning Padawan.

He grabbed his lightsaber, switching it on again. It looked ghostly when lit up underwater; the water sizzled around it. Qui-Gon's chest grew tight to see Obi-Wan's limp form sinking into the murky depths and swam faster, his outstretched hand finally touching Obi-Wan's body. He sliced the chains open, freeing Obi-Wan and taking him into his arms. He swam as far a distance as he could, trying to avoid detection from Beorx's guards, propelling his motion with the Force. He swam upwards when it seemed they had traveled a safe enough distance, Obi-Wan's dead weight still in his arms.

It wasn't until they broke surface that Qui-Gon realized how much his own lungs had been burning for air. He grabbed Obi-Wan's face, but the boy didn't respond. Qui-Gon felt his heart stop, felt the world itself stop. He put a hand on Obi-Wan's chest, reaching into his body through the Force and forcibly expelling the water from his lungs. Obi-Wan twitched to life, coughing and vomiting up water.

Qui-Gon held him tightly, feeling an incredible relief wash over him, tempered by guilt. He knew he shouldn't be so attached to his Padawan, but he honestly didn't know if he could have lived with himself if Obi-Wan had died. Their last real conversation had been one full of harsh words, and it weighed heavily on Qui-Gon's conscience.

He shook his head to regain control over himself, letting his emotions ebb out of him as he looked around for Ulara. He sensed her before he saw her, swimming towards them. He wasn't sure how she was able to grimace with half her face still underwater, but she was doing an admirable job of producing the expression nonetheless.

"They'll be after us in a moment, Jinn. Any other brilliant ideas?" she asked, lifting her head and spitting out sea water. Qui-Gon handed her Obi-Wan, who sagged against her, dribbling.

"Hold him," said Qui-Gon, then dived back into the water, searching for help.

. . .

_"I can fight at your side, Master. I'm one of the most talented lightsaber duelists in the Temple - you said so yourself," Obi-Wan said, his fists balling up for a moment before he forced his hands to relax._Killer's Whim_! Beorx is one of the most dangerous slavers in the galaxy, and his crew number in the hundreds. You need me." Frustration surged through Obi-Wan. Did Qui-Gon not trust him?_should_ do, only what he _shouldn't_ do. How was Obi-Wan supposed to know the right course of action? Was he supposed to have just let the Trianni hit him? What purpose would that have served? However, Qui-Gon was obviously not in the mood to be questioned, so Obi-Wan kept his thoughts to himself._wanted_ Obi-Wan to disobey him so he could send him away. He wondered what he'd done to make Qui-Gon distance himself. Pleasing Qui-Gon seemed so difficult lately, and Obi-Wan knew he'd failed him somehow, though he had no idea why. It had started before the incident with the Trianni._

Qui-Gon did not look up from the vawuje tea he was sipping. "Your battle prowess is quite impressive for a Padawan, yes. However, you directly disobeyed me yesterday. When I told you not to attack the Trianni, even if he attacked you, you apparently thought I was joking and fought back. Did you think you would not be held accountable for that?" His voice was as calm and fluid as water. Obi-Wan wondered if he would ever be able to speak like that when he grew older.

"But, Master, you're attacking the

Qui-Gon took another sip of his tea, gazing out of the window of their quarters in the Jedi Temple. The sun was setting, and airspeeders whizzed past. The lights of Coruscant's never-ending city were just starting to turn on, creating a dim haze down below. Obi-Wan stared at him, watching as Qui-Gon finished his tea, setting the cup on its saucer in a genteel manner. He gave Obi-Wan a stern look, resembling a tawny old leonar in the dying light.

"You overestimate your own importance, my young Padawan. I will be accompanied by Mace Windu, Depa Billaba, and Cin Drallig - all of whom are perhaps the most skilled fighters the Jedi have to offer. I'm not even counting Ulara Tinni, Cin's former apprentice. Please explain to me why I would need the assistance of a headstrong Padawan Learner while I am in the company of such esteemed Jedi?"

Obi-Wan sagged under the weight of Qui-Gon's words; they cut into him like broken glass. "I thought we were a team," Obi-Wan said in a soft voice.

The stern look on Qui-Gon's face never wavered. "We are a team, Obi-Wan. A team where I am the Master, and you are my apprentice. We are not a team of equals - you forget that too often. I grow weary of having to remind you of it."

"Master, I didn't mean to -"

"Save your apologies for when you mean them. You will remain on the cruiser with the ship's crew. End of discussion. Now, return to your meditations."

"But -"

The unswerving look in Qui-Gon's blue eyes caused Obi-Wan to fall silent. Qui-Gon returned to his tea, his posture stiff and rigid. Obi-Wan strode over to the meditation mat and sat cross-legged. Instead of meditating on the Force and concentrating on letting it flow through him, Obi-Wan found himself meditating on the cold look in Qui-Gon's eyes and the disappointed expression he'd given Obi-Wan yesterday after the fight with the Trianni. Obi-Wan would do anything in his power to have Qui-Gon look on him with the same pride and affection he once had.

It wasn't fair. Qui-Gon never told him what he

Obi-Wan wondered if Qui-Gon

He wondered if Qui-Gon weren't a Jedi, if he would hate Obi-Wan for not turning out how he wanted.

. . .

Obi-Wan awoke with a start, crying out in pain. His throat hurt, his stomach growled painfully, and the muscles of his entire body ached for no apparent reason. He half expected to be lying on the meditation mat in the room he shared with Qui-Gon, but to his surprise, when the blackness receded from his eyes, he found he was staring at a sunset-streaked sky full of orange and pink clouds. Feeling incredibly disoriented, he put his hands out and touched a wet, slimy ridge of something. Ulara Tinni suddenly obscured his view of the sky; her ravaged face was a rather unpleasant reminder of reality. He finally recalled where he was as he focused on the ugly tattoo on her left cheek.

"You all right, Kenobi?" she asked.

Beorx. Captivity. Rescue. Qui-Gon. Explosion. Water.

Right.

"No," he croaked in answer to Ulara's question. She didn't laugh.

Obi-Wan struggled to sit up, and Ulara reached out to help him. Obi-Wan realized Qui-Gon's black vest had been covering his chest and face, protecting him from sunburn. A quick look around told Obi-Wan he was lying on the hard shell of some giant tortoise-like creature. Qui-Gon sat near its ugly, scaled head, watching Obi-Wan silently, his hands steepled under his chin. Most of the hair dye had washed away, but the tips of Qui-Gon's chestnut-colored hair still dripped black.

"Master?" Obi-Wan held out the vest, but Qui-Gon shook his head.

"You need it more than I do," he said, his voice both quiet and powerful. Obi-Wan put the vest on; it hung off his frame as if he were a small child wearing his father's clothes.

"By the way, Kenobi, I forgot to compliment you on your _fabulous_ outfit," said Ulara, snickering. Obi-Wan glared at her and crossed his legs, painfully aware that the soaked material of his pants clung even tighter to his skin than before.

He glanced at the horrible dancing costume they'd put her in. She would probably be arrested if she tried to walk the streets of any decent city dressed like that. "Thanks, Tinni," he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "It's not nearly as _fabulous_ as your outfit, though."

Ulara handed Obi-Wan his lightsaber, smirking as best as her scarred face would allow. "Be grateful that I took the time to pick this up before jumping." She turned to Qui-Gon. "That does remind me never to accept missions with you that involve compromising my modesty in the future. Next time, you be the dancing girl, and I'll be the space pirate."

Qui-Gon's smile was thin when it ghosted across his face. "Somehow, I doubt I'd have been as much of a crowd pleaser."

"Beorx would probably have liked you," Obi-Wan grumbled, shivering as a breeze lifted. It brought the smell of some sort of wood with it. Obi-Wan hoped that meant land was nearby.

"Did he... hurt you?" asked Qui-Gon. His face took on an expression Obi-Wan couldn't quite name and didn't want to. The intensity of it made Obi-Wan turn away and stare at the blue water lapping against the turtle's shell.

"If you're asking what I think you're asking, then no," said Obi-Wan, feeling slightly sick to his stomach at the thought.

"Are you sure?" Qui-Gon's tone was sharp now.

Obi-Wan glanced at Ulara, who was pretending not to listen and adjusting her top to salvage some shred of her dignity. She suddenly became quite fascinated by the turtle's tail as it flicked in the water.

"Yes, I'm sure," said Obi-Wan, wondering how red his face was. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, least of all with Qui-Gon. "He wanted me to... be willing."

"He didn't force himself on you, then?"

"That's what I'm saying, Master." Obi-Wan tried not to sound exasperated. "I haven't eaten in over two days, because he was trying to starve me into it."

"There are kagaru bars in the left pocket of the vest. Eat that."

Obi-Wan snatched one of the ration bars out, ripping off the wrapper and practically swallowing it whole. He had been getting so hungry that if Qui-Gon had come any later, Obi-Wan was genuinely afraid of what he might have agreed to. Obi-Wan brought out another kagaru bar, eating it more slowly. It tasted much like Obi-Wan imagined his pants would taste, had his pants been edible, but at least it was nutritious and filling. No one said anything for a few moments, and he found the silence rather deafening.

"What did they do to you then?" Qui-Gon seemed bound and determined to drag every last detail out of Obi-Wan, while Obi-Wan would rather forget all about it.

Obi-Wan shrugged, still staring out at the water. There was a soft, rhythmic lapping noise from the turtle's motions; it made him sleepy just to listen to it. "Not much. Just made me wear these horrible pants and chained me up really. One of the men did attack me, but I bit his ear - he left me alone after that, and, well, Beorx killed him. It could have been worse - Beorx could have stuck me in Ulara's outfit."

Obi-Wan didn't mention how hard Beorx had been trying to make Obi-Wan willing, constantly plaguing him, threatening him, flattering him, forcing Obi-Wan to watch when Beorx demonstrated exactly what happened when a slave was disobedient on a young woman. It had disgusted Obi-Wan. There were plenty of men whose touch Obi-Wan would welcome, but Beorx was certainly not one of them.

"You're lying, Obi-Wan. What happened?" said Qui-Gon.

"I don't feel like talking about it. He didn't get physical, so you don't need to worry about checking me for venereal diseases. I didn't even go three days without food, so it's really nothing."

"Well," said Ulara in a loud voice, "we seem to be moving at a pretty good clip. They'll find us eventually, though. What do we do when we get to shore?"

Obi-Wan finally looked over at Qui-Gon. He had an unfathomable expression on his face. "We're too far away to get to Hyllyard City in time, but there's supposed to be an old military outpost near here. Never lasted long - the smugglers ran them out in record time. I'd say we could reach it in a couple days of walking. We'll be able to use the comm station inside to make contact with the _Wanderer_ - it should still be functional, and it shouldn't take them more than a couple hours to respond to our distress call."

"Don't you have a transmitter to contact the _Wanderer_ without the comm station?" asked Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon snorted. "I did." He gestured at the vest. Obi-Wan glanced down at it, seeing the horrible burnt out hole and a piece of metal welded inside of it. Obi-Wan fingered it, feeling a chill run down his spine when he realized if it hadn't been for the transmitter's durasteel plating, Qui-Gon would be dead.

Obi-Wan glanced over at him, noticing the burnt hole and the ruined right sleeve of Qui-Gon's shirt. As black as the material was, Obi-Wan could see a hasty bandage over where the heated transmitter's plating had burned Qui-Gon's chest. His arm had been bandaged with strips of cloth from Ulara's skirt.

"You're wounded," said Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon shrugged. "I hadn't even noticed the burn on my chest until Ulara treated it. I'll be fine."

The turtle came to an abrupt halt, and Obi-Wan noticed tall trees in the distance, even hearing their green leaves rustle in the wind. Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon's wounds again, frowning. "Master..."

"I'll take care of it later. This is as far as our friend is willing to take us - he can't risk swimming in any shallower water. We'll have to swim the rest of the way."

"Blast," muttered Ulara, slipping into the water with a frown.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan followed suit. Qui-Gon visibly winced when the salt water hit his wounds, until he realized Obi-Wan was staring at him. His face went blank, and he began to swim towards the shore. Obi-Wan paddled after him, feeling discontent. Qui-Gon seemed less than ecstatic to see him again. It wasn't that Obi-Wan had expected a tearful reunion, but he'd hoped Qui-Gon might have at least expressed some happiness to see him again.

Ulara got to the shore first. She wringed out her hair and attempted to adjust her clothes for modesty; it was a losing battle. Obi-Wan waded after her, adjusting the large vest to cover his crotch for the sake of his own modesty. Qui-Gon limped up the shore last, still mostly dressed. Obi-Wan saw Ulara glaring at him on what Obi-Wan assumed was principle.

"What's wrong with your foot?" Obi-Wan asked Qui-Gon, watching him limp by.

"It's nothing major," responded Qui-Gon in a dismissive voice. He jerked his head towards the trees. "We don't have much time before it gets dark, and we need to take cover before Beorx finds us."

As they drew closer to the tree line, the sense of the Force mysteriously left them again. Obi-Wan looked around, shuddering from its abrupt lack. He felt stripped down to the bone, weak and powerless. He'd never known how those who couldn't touch the Force felt before, but it almost made him want to weep. He'd spent over a week on this planet, suffocating from lack of contact from the Force. To have touched it so briefly, only for it to be taken away again so quickly, made him feel bereft to the core of his being.

Qui-Gon paused for a moment before moving forward into the tree line, looking thoughtful. "I wonder if it's the trees preventing us from touching the Force or something _in_ the trees. As I recall from the holofile of Myrkr, the concentrations of where the Force can't be reached always seem to be around the forested areas. There were certainly a lot of trees around Beorx's palace, and we couldn't touch the Force there, either. It feels as if we're in a sort of... bubble - a giant field of nothing. However, in order for life to exist, the Force must be present. Something on this planet is dulling our senses to it, disrupting our connection to the midi-chlorians," he said.

"What does it matter?" asked Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon glanced at him. "It always matters, Obi-Wan. If you questioned things like this as easily as you do my authority, you'd find you have a greater understanding and appreciation for the living Force."

Obi-Wan worked his jaw for a moment before saying, "Yes, Master." He sighed. "What about your wounds?"

"I don't feel safe here. You can check on them when we get a little deeper into the forest."

They trudged on in silence, Qui-Gon's limp growing more pronounced as they walked. Obi-Wan became painfully aware he was shoeless the deeper they moved into the forest. Ulara wore decorative sandals, and Qui-Gon wore black boots, so neither of them could quite sympathize with the scratches and stings on Obi-Wan's bare feet. Qui-Gon offered Obi-Wan his boots, but it was a pointless gesture - Qui-Gon's feet were four sizes bigger than Obi-Wan's.

The sun finally set and the moon quickly rose. There was little difference in the lighting, as canopied as the forest was. Obi-Wan was grateful the Myrkr night sky was so bright, since they did not have the Force to guide them now. The worst part of the night, however, was the temperature drop; Obi-Wan was still wet.

"What I wouldn't give for a shower, real clothes, and a hot meal," said Ulara with a sigh after a long silence. "I'm cold."

Obi-Wan glared at her for selfishly complaining about her own petty problems when Qui-Gon was so obviously injured. Obi-Wan turned back to him, seeing him stumble just as he turned. "Master!" he said, rushing to him. "We should rest."

Qui-Gon turned and looked at him, gripping one of the trees for support. He looked annoyed, his beard twitching as he set his jaw. "I'm fine, Obi-Wan. You needn't worry about my injuries. They're not serious."

Obi-Wan sighed, knowing Qui-Gon was going to be stubborn, so he thought fast. His eyes fell on Ulara, who was staring at some sort of small, furry salamander-like creature attached to one of the tree branches. He looked over at Qui-Gon. "Tinni is injured and tired."

"I am?" asked Ulara, raising an eyebrow.

"She is," Obi-Wan said in a firm voice, glancing at Qui-Gon once before looking at her in a meaningful manner. "She pulled an arm muscle in the water, and she's very tired. After all, she was dancing around long before we got into the fight."

"Well, now that you mention it," said Ulara, her lips curling into a gruesome smile as she appeared to understand what Obi-Wan was doing. "I am tired."

Qui-Gon looked around the woods and then shrugged. "Well, we should be deep enough by now that they'll not easily track us."

"Is there anything for dinner?" asked Ulara hopefully.

"All I have are the kagaru bars in the vest for dinner, I'm afraid."

"We'll make do," said Obi-Wan, giving Ulara a pointed look.

Qui-Gon sighed and sat down, wincing as he did so. "I also have a wallet tent in the vest, but it's only big enough for two. You and Ulara sleep in it tonight."

"Master, you should take the tent. I can sleep outside -"

"I'm the one that's fully dressed, Obi-Wan. I will sleep outside. You and Ulara will take the tent."

"We can _all_ fit inside if we squeeze, Jinn," said Ulara, eyeing Qui-Gon with a frown. "It's starting to get cold anyways. We could use the body heat."

Qui-Gon smiled briefly. "Fine. How many kagaru bars are left?"

Obi-Wan reached into the pocket and pulled out the remaining kagaru bars. "Seven," he said, after he quickly counted them. "I don't need another one today, I've already had two, and -"

"Nonsense. You haven't eaten in days and need the nutrition. We'll all have one tonight and then start rationing the bars tomorrow. We shouldn't have to spend more than two nights like this. It's not bad at all."

Obi-Wan handed Ulara a bar and then walked over to sit beside Qui-Gon, handing him his own bar. Qui-Gon peeled off the wrapper carefully, taking a large bite and glancing over at Obi-Wan. "Eat," he said.

Obi-Wan took out his own bar, trying to peel off the wrapper and eat as carefully as Qui-Gon. Hunger won out over his manners, and Obi-Wan was finished with his bar before Qui-Gon ate half of his. Feeling somewhat chagrined by this, Obi-Wan leaned closer to Qui-Gon.

"Master, will you let me look at your wounds now?"

Qui-Gon took another bite of his bar, chewing fully and then swallowing. "Take out the wallet tent from the top right pocket and give it to Ulara to set up first."

Obi-Wan sighed, pulled out the wallet tent, and tossed it so wildly at Ulara that she didn't bother trying to catch it. Instead, she watched it flop into the trees with an apathetic expression. "Your aim needs work, Kenobi," she observed and went after it.

"Is there any sort of medpac in this thing?" Obi-Wan asked Qui-Gon, pointing at his vest.

"In the inside left pocket, behind the zipper."

Obi-Wan pulled it out and then promptly dropped it when Ulara screamed, stumbling out of the trees. Something green and with several arms was on top of her, screeching angrily and pulling at Ulara's hair. Obi-Wan thought it looked like some sort of small primate. When he and Qui-Gon ran towards Ulara with their lightsabers burning in their hands, the creature screamed in fear and fled back into the trees, the leaves rustling as it moved away at lightning speed.

"Scrunty rankweed sucker!" Ulara cursed after it, gingerly touching her head.

"Did it bite you?" asked Obi-Wan in concern. There was no telling what diseases Myrkr's wildlife produced.

"No, it just jumped out at me."

"Did it scratch you?" asked Qui-Gon.

"No."

"Did it hit you?"

"No."

"Then what _did_ it do to you?"

"It pulled my hair."

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon exchanged a glance, putting away their lightsabers. "For all that, and you screamed as if it were ripping off your face," said Obi-Wan.

Ulara looked annoyed, picking up the wallet tent she'd dropped. "Nice. See if I come running when some strange animal pops out of the trees at you."

"We came running," said Obi-Wan. "We just reserve the right to mock you for it afterwards."

"I'll reserve the same right. And I'd bet you'd scream like a youngling, too."

"If only to show you how it's done."

"Children, please," said Qui-Gon. Ulara grunted and turned back to wallet tent; she opened it up, muttering to herself the whole time. Obi-Wan turned back to Qui-Gon and picked up the fallen medpac.

Qui-Gon sat back down, wincing in pain. Obi-Wan kneeled next to him, pulling out a closure pack to treat the wounds on his arm. "You'll need to take your shirt off, Master."

Qui-Gon sighed and peeled the shirt off, grimacing as he did so. When the shirt and the dressings Ulara had put on came off, Obi-Wan saw why Qui-Gon had grimaced. The vibroblade cut nearly went to the bone, and the blaster bolt had charred a good portion of his flesh. His chest had a small burn on it. Qui-Gon did not scream when Obi-Wan put the antiseptic on his arm, but he looked as if he wanted to.

"We could heal this up in a few hours in a bacta tank," said Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon only grunted, his head dipped forward; strands of hair that had worked loose from his ponytail clung to his face, held in place by his sweat. Obi-Wan hesitated and scrubbed a little harder at the burn wound, trying to take off the dead skin. Another grunt escaped Qui-Gon, but he otherwise made no noise.

"I don't think Ulara did a very good job at dressing your wounds," said Obi-Wan, laying down the stained cloths when he was satisfied the wounds were clean.

"She did fine. You just happen to be better at it," said Qui-Gon in a tired voice. He looked rather pale.

Obi-Wan dressed Qui-Gon's arm tightly in strips from his own pants, since the medpac was only large enough to stock a few bandages; Qui-Gon was insistent they save those in case they really needed them. Obi-Wan used one on Qui-Gon's chest wound, despite his protests. When he was done, Obi-Wan dug out a painkiller and handed the pill to Qui-Gon. He took it without question, swallowing it dry. Obi-Wan glanced down at Qui-Gon's foot.

"I'll need a look at that, too."

Qui-Gon sighed and glanced down at his foot as well. "Ulara already checked for broken bones. It's just a sprain. I think it will be best to leave the boot on, otherwise my ankle will swell and I won't be able to get it back on."

Obi-Wan pulled out a cooling pad from the medpac and slipped it inside Qui-Gon's boot as gently as he could. Qui-Gon was leaning back against the tree when Obi-Wan was done, his eyes closed. Color was just starting to return to his face.

"Go get some rest in the tent, Obi-Wan. You're barely dressed, and it's chilly."

Obi-Wan stared at him. "You're coming inside with us, Master."

Qui-Gon sighed and opened his eyes, putting back on his shirt with slow, deliberate moments. "I've sustained worse wounds and survived before you were even born. This is nothing to worry about."

Obi-Wan helped him finish putting his shirt on. "You should get inside first."

Qui-Gon smiled and crawled inside the tent, wincing a little with pain. "Very well. We'll be getting an early start tomorrow. I don't want to spend any more time than necessary on this starforsaken planet."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan crawled inside the tent after Qui-Gon situated himself. Ulara was already huddled up on one side, and Obi-Wan was forced to squeeze between her and Qui-Gon. It was a very tight fit, but at least it was warm. Both Qui-Gon and Ulara smelled as if they could use a good shower, but Obi-Wan imagined he didn't smell much better. He could hear Ulara grinding her durasteel teeth, and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping she didn't snore. He couldn't deal with both.

He found himself snuggling closer to Qui-Gon, who had already fallen asleep, his long hair fanning across his face. Obi-Wan rested his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder, drawing away from Ulara as much as possible. To his relief, Qui-Gon's light snoring quickly drowned out the sound of her grinding teeth.

. . .

When Obi-Wan woke up, Qui-Gon was gone.

He glanced over at Ulara, but she was still sleeping with one arm haphazardly draped over him. Obi-Wan sat up, wondering how Qui-Gon had managed to squeeze out without waking anyone, as small as the tent was.

Obi-Wan crawled outside to stretch, yawning loudly. It had been a hard, uncomfortable sleep, but it was more satisfactory than the light, restless naps he'd had to adopt in Beorx's palace. It was almost dawn, and Qui-Gon was nowhere to be seen. Obi-Wan's heart skipped a few beats until he saw Qui-Gon standing some distance away, talking to a tree. Obi-Wan wondered if Qui-Gon had gone mad, but the call of nature demanded he relieve himself before questioning his Master's sanity. When he returned, Qui-Gon had come back to the campsite. He'd even brought a friend.

Obi-Wan stared at the furry green primate in Qui-Gon's arms. It looked almost the same as the one that had attacked Ulara the night before, with six arms, short legs, a squat body, and a face so ugly it was almost cute.

"Boy is Obi?" the creature asked as Obi-Wan stared at it, completely at a loss for words.

"Yes, that's Obi-Wan, my apprentice."

Obi-Wan stared at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon smiled at him, patting the little furry monster over the head. "I think her name is Keelala, from what I can make out of her Basic. She's extremely primitive, but I think she's sentient."

Unable to think of anything else more coherent, Obi-Wan asked, "Is that the same thing that attacked Ulara?"

"Yes, that was Keelala. Ulara frightened her - she's seen humans before, but none with facial scars like that. She's not from this planet. Pirates kidnapped her and brought her here, but she managed to escape them and has been hiding out since then. I thought we could help her."

Keelala screeched and clung to Qui-Gon as Ulara emerged, the state of her hair and the droopy look in her eyes enough to even give Obi-Wan a start. Ulara stared at Keelala with the same dumbfounded expression Obi-Wan imagined had just been on his own face. She'd been attempting to finger-comb her hair, and her hand was paused in mid-stroke, stuck in the tangles.

"She's nothing to fear, Keelala," said Qui-Gon in a soothing voice, patting the frightened beast on the back. "Her name is Ulara, and she's my friend. I told you about her."

"Girl is Ula?"

"Yes," said Qui-Gon.

Ulara gave Qui-Gon a look that would have sent Obi-Wan running as fast he could in the opposite direction had it been leveled at him. "That thing attacked me last night."

"You scared her."

"I scared -" Ulara spluttered, "_I_ scared _her_? _She_ scared _me_!"

Obi-Wan decided to step back in. "Master, we're not allowed to have pets, and -"

"She's not a pet, Obi-Wan. Keelala is fully capable of thinking for herself. When I woke up this morning to find water, I found her by a nearby stream. Upon convincing her that I meant her no harm, she asked me to take her away from this place. She doesn't like the food here. It disagrees with her digestive system. I agreed. After all, she suffered the same plight you did."

"He's joking, right?" Ulara asked Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan glanced at her. "Oh, no. He's as serious as a supernova."

"Now that we have that all worked out, hand me one of those kagaru bars, Obi-Wan. I think they'll do our new friend some good."

"But Master, we only have four left."

"Perfect. There's four of us."

Obi-Wan sighed and reluctantly handed over one of the bars. Qui-Gon gave it to Keelala. "Now, what you do with it is peel off the wrapper, and -"

Keelala stared at him with bright red eyes and then shoved the kagaru bar into her mouth whole, wrapper and all. She chewed for a few moments and then swallowed, belching once. "Yummy. Keelala go home now?"

"Well, yes, once we call our friends. Ulara, Obi-Wan, if you'd be so kind as to pack the wallet tent? Then I'll take you both down to the stream."

Obi-Wan and Ulara moved to do as Qui-Gon said, both exchanging mutinous looks. When they were done, Qui-Gon led them to the stream he had found, and they drank and washed up as the strange beast scurried about them. Keelala kept running up to either Obi-Wan or Ulara, poking at them in turn, and then running back to Qui-Gon with what sounded suspiciously like laughter. Despite her limited powers of speech, Obi-Wan still couldn't think of Keelala as anything more than a particularly well-trained animal. He found Keelala's limited linguistics cute in the most annoying way possible - rather like a toddler trying too hard. What Qui-Gon saw in such a pathetic life form was beyond him.

Obi-Wan tucked the wallet tent back into his pocket when he and Ulara were done. Qui-Gon motioned them to follow him, having an animated, if simplistic conversation with Keelala as they walked. Ulara finger-combed her hair and shot him dirty looks in what Obi-Wan supposed was revenge. Her hair still looked like a nuna's nest, but Obi-Wan thought it polite not to mention that fact to her.

The day passed relatively uneventfully. There were more of the strange salamander-like creatures in all of the trees, but they seemed fairly docile; Qui-Gon said to leave them alone. They ate the last of the kagaru bars, and Qui-Gon promised them that they would reach the abandoned military post by the next day. Other than the addition of Keelala to their rather bedraggled party, the day passed uneventfully. Twilight came, but Qui-Gon was determined to have them walk as far as they could.

"I don't think it's such a good idea to have adopted a strange beast like that," muttered Ulara as they walked.

Though Obi-Wan didn't much care for Keelala either, he wasn't going to stand by and let Ulara suggest Qui-Gon had made a bad decision. She didn't have the right. "Yes, well, Master Jinn is more attuned to the living Force than you are."

"Be that as it may, I've still got a bad feeling about this whole situation."

Obi-Wan snorted. "I would think Master Jinn's senses are a bit more trustworthy than yours. Why did you come in the first place?"

"Because no one else believed you were still alive."

In for a credit, in for a cred stick. "Well, Master Jinn obviously believed that, too. His senses are working just fine, since I quite obviously am."

"Maybe Master Jinn only came because it was his duty to try, since you are his Padawan. I expect Master Drallig would have done the same for me, even if he did think I was dead."

Obi-Wan looked at her. The expression on his face must have been more telling than he wanted; Ulara looked startled for moment, then ashamed.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I went too far."

Obi-Wan returned to their original subject. "Master Jinn does as he feels he must."

"Which naturally explains why he's so unpopular with the Council."

"I don't see Master Drallig sitting on the Council, either."

Ulara shrugged. "He doesn't want to be. Master Drallig likes to fight - that's his weakness. We all have them, and there's no shame in them so long as you control them. He's aggressive, and he controls that. Master Jinn is compassionate, but I'm not so sure if he's controlling that."

"Master Jinn always has things under control. He's a wise man and a powerful Jedi. He doesn't want to be on the Council, either."

"But Master Jinn wants to change things. Things that have worked for millennia. What do you think about that?"

"I think Master Jinn knows what he's talking about, and the Council should listen more and dismiss less. Just because it's worked for millennia, doesn't mean it will always work. Sometimes, things need to be changed for the better. Look at what's been happening for the past decade: trade embargoes, economic inflation, and planetary civil wars - there's great unrest in the galaxy, Ulara." Obi-Wan used her first name to drive home the point that this wasn't light banter to him. "Maybe if the Council listened to Master Jinn more, they would be able to understand the source of this unrest."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, Obi-Wan." It pleased Obi-Wan that she used his first name as well; it meant she was taking the conversation just as seriously. "I'm _questioning_ you. Master Jinn is going places that you might not want to follow should you wish to sit on the Council one day. Me? I barely made Jedi Knight, and the chance of someone like me ever becoming a Master is next to none. You're different, Obi-Wan. You're a lot more careful than I am. If you want to become a great Jedi like your Master, you need to understand what sort of Jedi he is. He's a revolutionary to my mind."

Obi-Wan stared at Qui-Gon; his limp was almost unnoticeable, and he was moving at a good clip. Obi-Wan wondered if it was because his ankle had healed quickly, or if he was actually forcing himself to ignore the pain. He suspected the latter. "So, what's your point, Ulara? You're telling me that I have to make a choice between my Master and the Jedi Council?"

"Maybe one day. Masters tend to take Padawans that reflect some of the qualities they possess. I reflect Master Drallig's dedication to perfection in the art of lightsaber combat, and his belief that mastery of one's weapon is mastery over oneself - just to name a couple. Ask yourself this: what part of Qui-Gon Jinn do you reflect, Obi-Wan?"

Before Obi-Wan could even begin to formulate an answer, Keelala started screeching in fear, clinging tightly to Qui-Gon's back. Her broken Basic became unintelligible bestial squeals. "What's wrong?" asked Obi-Wan.

"I'm not sure," said Qui-Gon, taking his lightsaber off his belt.

Obi-Wan and Ulara took his lead and grabbed their own lightsabers. Obi-Wan stretched with all his senses, but without the Force, he could sense nothing out of the ordinary. There was not even a sound.

"It's nothing," said Ulara dismissively, hooking her lightsaber back on her skirt.

Qui-Gon, however, left his lightsaber in his hand, thumbing the switch as he looked all around, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "Master?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Duck!" cried Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan instinctively dropped. He felt, rather than heard, something whip-like pass centimeters off his back. Qui-Gon slid beside him, his lightsaber swinging out in a tight arc. An animal's yelp of pain filled the air, and Obi-Wan stood up.

All of a sudden, the woods were filled with vicious growls; large lizard-like beasts emerged from the trees, surrounding them. Obi-Wan and Ulara turned on their lightsabers, blue light competing with the green glow of Qui-Gon's blade. The pack of predators apparently thought Jedi would make for a rather tasty evening meal, and they seemed wholly unimpressed by the weaponry. Obi-Wan spent a second wondering at their behavior; predators didn't normally act like that.

"Mean ones," whimpered Keelala from where she clung to Qui-Gon's back. "Stings on tails. No touch!"

"Back-to-back! Now! Watch the tails!" Qui-Gon shouted.

Obi-Wan and Ulara moved on Qui-Gon's orders just as the pack sprung at them, their tails whipping around violently. Obi-Wan swung out to block them, realizing this was going to get ugly. He barely knew what was happening. He was blocking the whip-like tails, kicking out at flashing teeth, slicing through meat, bone, and sinew. His world was filled with snarling and growling of hungry beasts, and the fact that the Force was not there to aid him made everything that much worse. It was all so slow, so ugly. The feel of his bare feet slamming into the scaled haunches of the predators hurt his already raw soles, but he ignored it, passing his lightsaber through one of the scaly monstrosities as it leapt at him.

"Obi!" cried Keelala, suddenly appearing on his back. She reached out with lightning speed, four of her small hands reaching out to grab one of the beast's tails before it could whip across Obi-Wan's face. As she viciously squeezed it, the beast gave a high-pitched yelp of pain. Obi-Wan held his breath and stabbed the beast through the head as it froze.

There were a few more yelps of pain coming from Qui-Gon's and Ulara's directions, and finally the survivors fled back into the woods. Obi-Wan watched them go, feeling a sort of feral satisfaction at their victory. He glanced at Keelala, who now hung off his shoulder with two of her arms, staring at him with her unblinking red eyes. He decided she wasn't quite as pathetic as he originally suspected.

"Master Jinn? Are you all right?" he heard Ulara ask. Obi-Wan spun around to face Qui-Gon, only to watch him collapse and lay still. There were raw whip lashes across his face.

. . .

_Qui-Gon expected Obi-Wan to be sullen when their cruiser blasted its way into the cargo hold of the _Killer's Whim_, but Obi-Wan was taking it to another level. He was completely silent and wouldn't even look at Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan's orders were to stay behind to guard the cruiser; he was being left out of the fight, and Qui-Gon had made sure that was painfully clear. As the shields went down and the cruiser landed in the cargo hold, Qui-Gon cast one last glance at his Padawan._any_ circumstances," said Qui-Gon. "If you sense that we die in battle, you leave. Do you understand?"_Killer's Whim_ - danger Qui-Gon didn't want Obi-Wan to be part of._Killer's Whim_ were unavoidable. The act of killing had always worried at Qui-Gon's conscience, even when he was left with no choice. He avoided killing those he could, but when he thought of all the innocent people that the slavers had kidnapped, enslaved, raped, or murdered, his resolve strengthened._Killer's Whim_ was a large ship, built like a tomb, and just as dark and morbid. It was not a ship of drunken pirates, but of hardened killers and rapists out to make a little extra money doing what they did best. Their leader was a sadist, and just being onboard sent chills of the dark side up and down the spine of every Jedi there. Death and things worse than death echoed in its metallic hallways - even before the Jedi had boarded and the fight broke out._Obi-Wan_ was on that cruiser. Qui-Gon felt a stinging behind his eyes and a burning in his chest as he ran. He had no stomach, just a black void growing, gnawing, eating all his emotions. He called for Obi-Wan, begged him to answer his comlink. A shard of doubt lodged itself in Qui-Gon's conscience. He'd told Obi-Wan to stay on the cruiser to protect him, not to endanger him._

"You're not to leave this cruiser under

Obi-Wan nodded, still not looking at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon had felt the statement worth repeating, as Obi-Wan had a tendency to disregard what he said, especially when it came to things he thought might "prove" his worth. Qui-Gon turned from him, leaping out of the cruiser beside his fellow Jedi: Cin Drallig, Ulara Tinni, Mace Windu, and Depa Billaba. Even with such powerful Jedi, there was danger in attacking the slavers onboard the

Lightsabers flashed, and the fighting began. The slavers ran towards them, blasters roaring as they fired on the Jedi. They were so drunk on the power they lorded over their victims that they actually thought they could defeat the Jedi. They thought wrong. There were five Jedi and almost three hundred slavers onboard the stolen Star Destroyer. It was the slavers who were outnumbered.

The deaths onboard the

The others were not so careful as he - they did not seek to kill, but they did not consciously avoid the act, either. Sometimes, Qui-Gon wondered why the Jedi, who spoke of compassion in generality, found it so difficult to give compassion to certain individuals. Yet, these men surely deserved no compassion, not with the crimes they had committed. In the cold, dark cargo bay huddled fifty people of various races, genders, and ages that these men had tried to enslave. These men knew no mercy, and their actions demanded that no mercy be delivered to them.

Qui-Gon still wondered if the Jedi bothered to give them mercy, even if undeserved, if it would make any difference or not.

The

Qui-Gon searched for the leader, the slaver known as Beorx. A man wanted in eighteen systems for murder, rape, kidnapping - a legend in the underworld. Qui-Gon spun to avoid another blaster shot, satisfied that slicing the blaster in half was all he needed to do to diffuse a wiry Bith. Qui-Gon reached out through the Force, trying to find Beorx. It wasn't hard. Though Beorx was not Force-sensitive, the dark side seethed around him like a cloak, stronger than anywhere else on the ship.

Qui-Gon moved through the slavers like a ballet dancer; the only difference was his steps were potentially deadly. Every spin of his body, every flurry of his lightsaber, every jump, every sprint had a purpose. The Atrata was a style strong in the Force, made to accentuate speed and agility. He had little defense, but it was not needed - his attack was defense enough.

A blast door closed shut ahead of him, blocking him from intercepting Beorx's escape. Qui-Gon silently cursed, jabbing his lightsaber through the metal door, melting his way through. Mace appeared after a moment, adding the heat of his own violet blade to Qui-Gon's. They'd never seen eye-to-eye on anything, but here, now, they were a team, working together as brothers. The door melted faster, and Qui-Gon could hear the battle raging behind him, well on the way to being won by Cin, Depa, and Ulara.

Qui-Gon often asked himself at what cost the Jedi's victories came.

"I don't understand why he's going this way. His escape ship is in the other direction," Mace ground out, his expression more intent than usual. Then a startled look came across his face. "Oh, no."

The door melted through, pieces of it sloughing away until there was a hole large enough for Qui-Gon to jump through. He stared at Mace, knowing of his gift to see shatterpoints, the weaknesses within the Force. "What is it?"

"Our cruiser is in this direction."

Qui-Gon jumped through the hole before Mace even completed his sentence. The Force protected him from being burnt on the edges of the hole, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered then. He raced through the labyrinthine hallways, his heart in his throat as he called for Obi-Wan on his comlink. Mace ran after him, not quite fast enough to keep up.

"Obi-Wan! Answer me!" he cried into the comlink, reaching the docking bay the Jedi had forced their way into not even an hour ago.

Obi-Wan never answered.

The cruiser took off before Qui-Gon's eyes. Its sleek form disappeared into hyperspace just as he reached the spot it had been standing on only moments ago. All Qui-Gon could sense was a brief flash of pain from Obi-Wan before their connection through the Force was severed by distance.

Qui-Gon fell to his knees as Mace raced into the docking bay. Qui-Gon recalled Beorx's holofile, his mind reeling over the neat bullet points that had listed all the unspeakable things Beorx had done - unspeakable things that he could now do to Obi-Wan at his own leisure.

"We've lost him," said Mace in a heavy voice.

"No," said Qui-Gon shaking his head. "He's alive. And I'll save him."

Mace's comforting hand on his shoulder was meaningless. Everything was meaningless until Obi-Wan was safe again.

. . .

Qui-Gon awoke inside of his wallet tent, taking a brief moment to get his bearings. Obi-Wan peered anxiously into his face, blue-gray eyes wide and full of concern. Qui-Gon blinked, and Obi-Wan fell back beside him, startled.

"Master! Are you all right?"

Keelala scampered along his body, taking up Obi-Wan's former position of peering into Qui-Gon's face. "No touch tails. Told Qui, Keelala did. Keelala busy saving cub, cannot watch Qui all time. Only Ula listen to wise Keelala about tails."

"I think we need a translator," said Obi-Wan, looking blank.

Qui-Gon saw Ulara peering at him through the tent flap, looking as concerned as Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to speak, only to find his mouth had gone quite dry. He croaked out a non-word, and then swallowed, trying once again. "She was reprimanding me for not heeding her warning about the animals' tails," he finally croaked. "She was busy trying to save you, Obi-Wan."

"Me? Why?"

"She thinks you're, ah, a child."

"What?"

"The concept of a Padawan Learner is a bit too complicated for her to understand. She thinks we're a family unit. And she is proud of you, Ulara, for listening to her."

Ulara laughed. "That's my girl, Keelala. I'm proud of her, too. She fought like a puuri cat out there." Ulara held out an arm, and to Qui-Gon's surprise, Keelala went over to her, climbing up to perch on Ulara's shoulder with a content expression. There was, apparently, nothing like working together while fending off predators to bring people and strange, furry creatures together.

"She must be immune to their poison," said Obi-Wan.

"Poison?"

"There was a mild toxin in those tails. I don't have the equipment to do a full scan on it, but it's not spectacular - only designed to stun creatures. You were hit several times, so you went down. It passed out of your system pretty quickly, all considered."

"Unfortunately, those toothsome darlings seemed to have it in for us - they practically ignored Keelala. I wonder if they only go for Force-sensitives. It might explain why this planet is devoid of the Force in so many areas," said Ulara.

Qui-Gon propped himself up on his elbows, looking thoughtful. "It might. Was anyone else hurt?"

"No. We're all fine," said Obi-Wan, frowning.

Qui-Gon glanced down, realizing his vest had been tactfully placed over his hips. His trousers were missing, and his right leg was covered in ugly red welts, as was his right hand. The moment he looked at it, pain suddenly washed over him, crawling up from his wounds like a rather venomous insect. Qui-Gon winced. "The right leg. Right ankle. Right arm. Right hand. I feel distinctly unbalanced."

"You have a few stings on the left side of your face, if it's any consolation," said Obi-Wan. "The marks should fade away in a day or two."

"My life is nearly complete. Where are my trousers?" Qui-Gon saw his left boot lying to the side. He still had his right boot on, since taking it off would risk his ankle swelling too big to fit back in it.

Ulara produced his trousers, holding them up. There were cuts all down the right side, from where the predators' tails had lashed through the material. Ulara smiled. "It's all the rage in the downlevels. You'll be so fashionable that you'll blend right in with everyone around Obi-Wan's age."

"Then, and only then, will my life truly be complete." Qui-Gon's tone was as dry as dust as he took his trousers and slipped them on - the right leg had been cut open so it fit over his boot. It hurt to move, but everything hurt lately. Qui-Gon ignored the pain.

"Well, there is some good news," said Obi-Wan. "Keelala found us food. It's only nuts and berries, but we're not complaining."

"Keelala is good to furless friends," Keelala in proud tones, gnawing on Ulara's hair before relinquishing it for a nut.

Qui-Gon sat up and smiled when Obi-Wan handed him a handful of small, red berries. "Yes, you are very good to your friends. It is quite fortunate that we found you."

Keelala gave Qui-Gon a squeak of joy, and Ulara shook her head. "Well, I'm going to sleep out here with Keelala. We set up camp on her recommendation, so I don't think we'll be bothered tonight - but I think a guard is still in order. It's not as cold tonight, and I'm not wet, so it won't be so bad. Get some rest, Master Jinn."

"So it's Master Jinn, now? Not just Jinn?"

"It's Master Jinn when you aren't dragging me around on one of your laserbrained ideas. Or if you have sustained enough injury to make me feel sorry for you." Ulara flashed him a smile and went outside with Keelala in her arms. Keelala waved with four of her arms as they exited, clutching Ulara with the other two.

"You should eat," ordered Obi-Wan. "You'll need your strength so we can make it to the outpost tomorrow."

"Yes, Master," said Qui-Gon in a sardonic tone, popping a few berries into his mouth. They tasted sour, but they were filling. There were also some rather strange, extremely salty nuts. Obi-Wan watched him eat, his expression bordering on discontent.

"What's wrong?"

Obi-Wan jerked his head, looking away. "Nothing."

Qui-Gon reached out and put a hand tentatively on his shoulder. "Obi-Wan, whatever happened when you were with Beorx, it's all right to talk about it. It wasn't your fault."

Obi-Wan snorted. "He didn't touch me, no one really did. One man tried, but he learned his lesson the hard way. I didn't lie. Beorx wanted to do a mindtrip on me - he wanted to break me, Master. But I don't break that easy." He sighed and gestured around them. "It's this place that bothers me. There's no Force here, and it's hard to let things go when you can't use the Force to help you and guide you. I feel like someone cut my heart out, but I haven't died and instead keep walking around without it."

Qui-Gon's grip tightened on Obi-Wan's shoulder, and most of his tension drained away to find out those unspeakable things he had lain awake trying not to picture being done to Obi-Wan hadn't occurred. "We all feel it. We'll be gone from this wretched planet tomorrow, and then everything will be back to normal."

There was silence, and then: "There is something else that's bothering me."

Qui-Gon studied Obi-Wan's face, suddenly struck by how old Obi-Wan seemed. It was as if he'd left Qui-Gon a boy and had returned to him a man - a man who knew all too well how delicate and precarious existence really was. Obi-Wan's life had been held in the balance by a monster, and it was a lesson he would not soon forget. "What is it?" Qui-Gon asked.

"It's... you." Obi-Wan's voice lowered, his tone reluctant. He broke Qui-Gon's gaze, turning to look down at the blanket.

Qui-Gon let go of Obi-Wan's shoulder, swallowing hard. His mind raced as he tried to understand why Obi-Wan was bothered, when Obi-Wan spoke up again. "I know I haven't been a very good Padawan. I'm very sorry I didn't listen to you about the Trianni, and all those other times I disobeyed you. I didn't mean do it willfully, I just thought I -"

"- knew better than I do?" Qui-Gon finished, his heart beating regularly now that he could understand what Obi-Wan was going on about.

Obi-Wan blinked at him, nodding.

"Sometimes you do, sometimes you don't. But I have the benefit of age and experience, Obi-Wan. I know that means nothing to you right now, but one day, when you have a Padawan of your own, you'll realize how much experience does matter. How much it teaches you, molds you - and how frustrating it can be when these hard years we live through are dismissed by the young as the meanderings of old fools who don't understand anything."

Qui-Gon wrapped his fingers around Obi-Wan's upper arms, brushing against the golden serpentine bands he still wore. A brief surge of anger flooded through him; the bands made him remember the sight of Obi-Wan chained to Beorx like a pleasure slave. Qui-Gon pried them open and took them off Obi-Wan's arms without a word.

Obi-Wan looked down, as though in shame. "If you would like to release me from your training, Master, then do it. I don't want to be a burden to you."

Qui-Gon reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan's Padawan braid, as he had often done when Obi-Wan was just a boy. He tugged on it lightly, forcing Obi-Wan to turn and look at him.

"Do you know why I told you not to fight that Trianni, no matter what he did?"

"No, Master."

"That Trianni had just lost his wife and child to slavers. He was angry with humans, because it was humans who had taken his family away. He didn't deserve for a human to fight back - not after what had been done to him. Even if the blows stung, you should have just walked away from him. I am sorry you had to be the one who reminded him of the slaver, Obi-Wan, but sometimes life is unkind. You have to accept the blows as they come - even if they hurt. Did you seriously think I would let anyone truly do you any real harm?"

"I didn't think at all. I just reacted."

"Experience teaches us all. Reacting to things without thought to consequence is not how a Jedi should behave. You know that."

"Did you rescue his family?" Obi-Wan stared at him, looking contrite.

"Yes, they were in the cargo hold of the _Killer's Whim_. They seemed unharmed, and he was overjoyed when we returned them to Coruscant."

"I'm sorry I didn't listen, Master."

Qui-Gon let go of Obi-Wan's braid and squeezed his shoulder. Obi-Wan was the son he would never have, his protégé. It was attachment, but knowing Obi-Wan would be there after Qui-Gon had passed on made him feel complete. "You are not released from your duties, Obi-Wan. You will remain my apprentice until you become a Jedi Knight, or I die - whichever comes first."

"Thank you."

"We should get some rest."

Obi-Wan nodded and laid down next to Qui-Gon. He smelled of sweat and the woods themselves. For some inexplicable reason, Obi-Wan also smelled like gingerapples - an impossibility, given there were none here. The smell made Qui-Gon close his eyes, for it reminded him of his mother, a woman he barely remembered.

Qui-Gon slept deeply that night and without dreams.

. . .

Ulara was missing the next morning, as was Keelala.

While searching for them, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan found an area nearby that was full of broken branches. On the ground was a patch of damp earth that upon closer inspection, turned out to be blood - human blood. When Obi-Wan bent down to poke at a tangle of dead leaves and twigs, Ulara's index finger fell out. Qui-Gon gripped his lightsaber tightly, feeling as though the entire galaxy had finally come crashing down on him.

"She wasn't attacked here. We would have heard," said Obi-Wan, swallowing. He looked pale. "She must have gone off to relieve herself."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find his bearings. Beorx had found them and was leading them into a trap; that much was obvious. He hadn't killed them all in their sleep, and this gave his motivations away to Qui-Gon. Beorx wanted revenge. Qui-Gon had destroyed his slaver ship, ruined his reputation, discovered his hideout, decimated his guards, and taken away Beorx's last trophy. Beorx didn't want any of them to die quickly. He wanted to make them suffer first.

Obi-Wan spoke again, face milk-white. The hand that was holding his lightsaber shook. "What should we do?" he asked.

Beorx's HoloNet profile appeared in Qui-Gon's mind's eye. There were a great number of things that Beorx was probably doing to Ulara now, all of which made Qui-Gon wish he'd never read the profile. One thought he couldn't shake was that Ulara only had nine fingers left.

"We have to head to the military outpost. And we have to beat Beorx to it," he said.

"What?" Obi-Wan stared at him. "But Ulara -"

"- will be as good as dead if we don't call for help, Obi-Wan," finished Qui-Gon. "Beorx is many things, but he's not stupid. He wants one of us to come to him, while his men go to the outpost and destroy it."

"They'll beat us, Master. They have airspeeders."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "This is a military outpost, Obi-Wan. If it were common knowledge, it would have been destroyed. It was abandoned, not attacked. Beorx's men don't know where it is - they'd only have heard about it. They're relying on us to split up, so one of us can tell them where it is."

"Master, he'll kill her. He did horrible things to people. I saw some of them."

"We're not splitting up. And we're heading to the outpost. He'll come to us, and he'll keep her alive until then. We can't waste time."

"How can you be so sure? You could be wasting Ulara's life over a _theory_."

"Have you so quickly forgotten the lesson I imparted on you last night?" Qui-Gon ignored the look of shame on Obi-Wan's face. "Now, let's go."

He turned and began to run in the direction of the outpost, keeping close to the trees. Obi-Wan ran beside him, wincing occasionally; Qui-Gon realized why when he remembered that Obi-Wan had no shoes, and every bramble, twig, and rock on the ground was stabbing into his bare feet. The pain in Qui-Gon's ankle stabbed at him as well, and the fresh wounds of the predators' bites on his leg felt like vibroblades that had been snapped off in his flesh. He ignored the pain; it was nothing compared to what Ulara was probably going through now.

His conviction pounded through him. Ulara was as good as dead; they were all as good as dead, if they didn't get off this starforsaken planet. The farther Qui-Gon ran, the more he knew that he was making the right decision. He could hear airspeeders pass overhead on occasion, and this only drove him farther forward, ignoring the pain, the ache, the fatigue.

The outpost turned out to be closer than he thought. The realization that they could have made it to the outpost last night, had he not been injured made Qui-Gon dizzy. All of this could have been avoided had he not been so _weak_.

It was a small, rectangular building, painted green to match the forest. It was in a large clearing, surrounded by tall trees on all sides. The airspeeders were coming closer now, following them. Qui-Gon stepped up his speed, sprinting towards the door with Obi-Wan right behind him. As he passed halfway through the clearing, he could feel the Force return to him. It washed over him like a warm bath; he once again felt like a whole person, the missing pieces of himself finally falling into place.

"Master!" screamed Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon whipped around, blocking the laser cannon fire with swift, sharp jerks of his lightsaber. "Get inside, Obi-Wan. Hail the _Wanderer_! The code is Alpha-Red 854613!"

Obi-Wan ran inside, and Qui-Gon jumped up, using the Force to land onto the roof of the outpost. Here, he was on as level ground with the airspeeder as he could get. He nearly laughed at the lack of effort he put into the blocking their blaster bolts; he could feel them coming before they actually did. It was easy to forget the pain now. He didn't even feel it; all he felt was the Force. He was a part of it, and it was a part of him.

The airspeeder got close enough so Qui-Gon could jump on top of it and swing his lightsaber down on the pilot, separating his arm from his shoulder. The pilot screamed, and the air speeder headed for the ground. One of Beorx's men fired off round after round at him, but none even came close to hitting. Qui-Gon cut the man's hands off at the wrist and jumped off the airspeeder, landing just on the edge of the bubble of the clearing where the Force was present, turning to watch as the airspeeder crashed into the woods behind the outpost.

More of Beorx's guards came running then, discharging their weapons wildly at him; Qui-Gon waited for them inside the Force-filled area, pacing like a caged lightning cat. One by one they came to him, and one by one he killed them. He felt nothing over their deaths; he was empty of compassion that day. To the guards, Qui-Gon was an angel of death, delivering justice for their crimes with swift, blinding cuts of his lightsaber. The few who survived ran back for the woods, intent only on preserving their own sorry lives. Qui-Gon let them run; they weren't his real enemy.

"Jinn!"

His blood froze when he saw Beorx enter the clearing with Nekt and Marve on either side of him. Beorx held Ulara in front of him, pressing the flat side a vibroblade against her throat. Qui-Gon saw a small trickle of blood run down her neck as she swallowed, a thin rivulet of pain.

Ulara stared at him, tears pouring down her bruised face. Her right hand was missing all of its fingers, and her left was spared only by two; both hands were covered in dirty bandages. Her clothes were torn, vicious bruises and abrasions dotting her bare belly. Yet it was the tears pouring down her face that tore at Qui-Gon's heart more than any of her wounds.

"I didn't rough her up too badly, Jinn. She's still salvageable," said Beorx, his tone conversational. "Put the lightsaber down, and she'll remain like that."

Qui-Gon said nothing. Beorx, Nekt, and Marve were still outside the Force-filled area, and none of them appeared stupid enough to get any closer. Nekt and Marve had their blasters trained on Qui-Gon, but hadn't fired yet. Ulara trembled, her eyes begging Qui-Gon to help her. To see a Jedi reduced to this, to a battered hostage in the arms of a madman, made Qui-Gon's blood boil.

"I'll admit it took a while to get your Jedi bitch to scream, Jinn. I was impressed. It'd be a damn shame if I'd have to cut her throat right in front of you."

Qui-Gon dropped his lightsaber onto the ground, letting the Force pass through him and take away his anger, his hatred, his sympathy. "If it's me that you want, Beorx, then you can have me. Let her go, and you can do whatever you want to me."

Beorx smiled, the twist of his lips reminding Qui-Gon of the lizard-like predators that had attacked them last night. Obi-Wan came out, his lightsaber burning in his hands. Qui-Gon held out an arm, not even looking back at Obi-Wan, trying to shield him from what Beorx had done to Ulara.

"I don't want you, Jinn," said Beorx. "I want the boy. You give me your Padawan, I'll give you the girl."

Qui-Gon kept his arm out, not letting Obi-Wan pass from behind him. "You can't have him, Beorx," said Qui-Gon.

"I won't kill him. He'll be treated nicely, provided he behaves. I'll kill the girl if I don't get him, though, Jinn. You know I would."

"Master, I'll go," said Obi-Wan in a soft voice. "The _Wanderer_ will be here within the hour. You can just find me again."

Qui-Gon wouldn't put him such danger. Obi-Wan was his Padawan, and Qui-Gon's duty was to protect him, to watch over him. The very thought of Beorx touching Obi-Wan, hurting him, keeping him away from Qui-Gon made him sick to his stomach. He would not allow Beorx to harm the closest thing he had to a child.

"Your word is meaningless," said Qui-Gon, still staring at Beorx. "If you kill her, we kill you."

Beorx growled, grabbing Ulara's left hand even though she struggled to get away. He sliced off her last fingers just as Qui-Gon surged forward, pulling his lightsaber through the air into his hand with the Force. Ulara screamed, a piercing sound that hung in the air, and later came to haunt Qui-Gon in his nightmares.

"The boy, Jinn, or I kill the Jedi bitch!" Beorx cried, waving his bloody vibroblade around for emphasis.

Qui-Gon did not answer, for there was no answer he could give to that. Beorx had sealed his own fate. Qui-Gon dodged the blaster bolts fired at him, feeling Obi-Wan just behind him, blocking shots with his lightsaber. Qui-Gon focused all his attention on Beorx and Ulara's struggling forms.

Time suddenly lost all meaning to him.

Qui-Gon entered the deadened area where he could not touch the Force, his heart dropping into his stomach. Keelala suddenly screamed out a battle cry and leapt down from one of the trees, blood staining her green fur. Before either she or Qui-Gon could reach Beorx, he ran his vibroblade across Ulara's throat.

She gurgled once before falling to the ground.

"No!" cried Obi-Wan, moving towards the fallen woman.

Keelala leapt onto Marve, clawing at his face as he shot blindly, hitting nothing. Nekt fired, his hands shaking; Qui-Gon ignored him and sprinted towards his true opponent. Beorx dropped his vibroblade and held up his blaster, firing at Qui-Gon with far more accuracy than either of his guards. On his face was the smile of a satisfied maniac.

Qui-Gon dodged most of the shots, but afterward he could never remember how. Even so, he was without the Force; a blaster bolt seared the side of his head. He felt instantly dizzy, slowing enough that another of Beorx's shots struck him in the left shoulder, searing through flesh and into muscle. Rage filled him without warning, red and hot. A rage that no Jedi should ever succumb to. A rage that kept him moving, triumphing over his injuries as though they meant nothing.

Qui-Gon had taken many lives in his five decades. All were lives he had taken out of necessity, when no other option presented itself. There was an understanding that in battle, death was something a Jedi may have to deliver - they all had to learn to accept this. Most Jedi were rarely affected by this, but for Qui-Gon, there was a sense of loss over every kill; he felt a vague pain, a certain form of loss through the Force for every being he'd ever slain. He hated battle, and death - any death - made him ache in the recesses of his soul. Every life meant something to the living Force.

He never regretted killing Beorx. When his lightsaber passed through Beorx's upper torso, Qui-Gon enjoyed every second of it in a vicious way that would bring him to his knees in shame for the rest of his life. Even if there had been another option, Qui-Gon _wanted_ to kill him, and the fierce joy, the intense satisfaction that it gave him, made him wonder if he truly was the victor in that battle.

Something inside of him broke, and everything went numb.

Nekt was running away, his blaster lying on the ground where he had stood only moments before. When Qui-Gon spun around, pressing a hand over the gaping wound in his shoulder, he saw Keelala had clawed Marve's eyes out. One of her arms looked to have been blown off by a blaster shot, but the blood on her fur was not all hers. She scampered towards where Ulara lay, whimpering and crying.

Qui-Gon let himself look at her then, at the young woman who had agreed to help him save Obi-Wan, though she knew the chances of them both surviving were slim. A young woman Qui-Gon always respected for her strength, even if he did not approve of her aggressive nature.

She was still alive. Beorx had barely missed her jugular.

Obi-Wan had dragged her back to where the Force was present and was bent over her, his hand covering her throat. Blood poured from the wound, between his fingers, soaking the ground. Keelala cradled Ulara's head in her many arms, stroking the woman's hair and keening like a wounded animal. Obi-Wan was crying, looking as helpless as a child.

"Hang on, Ulara. Just hang on. Help is on the way," he sobbed, pulling out the medpac clumsily with his free hand.

Qui-Gon didn't move. Instead, he stood by Beorx's fallen body, staring at the scene before him, feeling as though he wasn't even really there. He hoped it was all a nightmare, and that he could just wake up if he tried hard enough. His body screamed in pain, begging him to rest, but he ignored it. Each wound in his body mocked him, and he felt like he was viewing everything through glass. He wasn't part of it, didn't want to be part of it, didn't deserve to be part of it. His head stung, and everything went blurry.

Ulara's eyes were filled mortal fear. She shivered as though cold, and Qui-Gon shivered with her. The wind began to pick up, and Qui-Gon felt cold ripple through his body as though the wind blew beneath his skin.

Obi-Wan pressed the one remaining bandage to Ulara's throat with one hand and injected the wound with a syringe filled with blood-coagulant with the other. If Ulara still had enough blood left, it would save her life; if Obi-Wan was too late, she would die just as quickly. Qui-Gon wondered if he would die, too, standing there like a lifeless droid.

Obi-Wan sat on his bloodied feet, cut and rubbed raw from their travels. Blood soaked Obi-Wan's arms in strange designs from where Ulara's palms pressed against him, as though she wanted to clutch him, but had no fingers to do so. The patterns of blood were strange, looking to Qui-Gon like a map of his own pain drawn in the smear of Ulara's blood on Obi-Wan's flesh.

The wind blew strongly around Qui-Gon, whipping his long hair about his face. It brought with it the smell of the Myrkr wood and gingerapples. Light danced as clouds passed over the sun, scattering a pattern across the clearing like sand. Sound went in and out, as though it were a bad transmission on a comlink. And still, Qui-Gon could not move.

"Hold on, Ulara. Please, just hold on." Obi-Wan's voice was tearful and ragged with effort - he was no doubt using the Force as best he could to save her, but he was no Healer. Qui-Gon realized the boy had never lost anyone before. Obi-Wan had never had to face the death of anyone he considered a friend; he'd never had to hold their precarious lives in his hands.

Obi-Wan looked at him then, his face wet and covered in Ulara's blood. His blue-gray eyes seemed filled with accusation. _How could you be so wrong? How could you do this? She's going to die, all because of your attachment._ Qui-Gon wondered if he imagined the look in Obi-Wan's eyes or not.

Qui-Gon could still smell the gingerapples, even stronger than before. They reminded him of Obi-Wan and of his mother. Qui-Gon wondered if his mother had loved him as he loved Obi-Wan, if it had hurt her to part with him.

He was a weak and foolish man. He had decided a woman's life meant less than Obi-Wan's safety, and it weighed on him as heavily as a star's gravity.

Ulara started to convulse, and Keelala's whimpers grew louder. Obi-Wan held the bandages firmly against her throat, crying, begging, pleading for her to stay with him. Qui-Gon watched it all, chilled to the bone by the wind, frozen by his own ineptitude.

When the _Wanderer_ finally arrived to pick them up half an hour later, they were immensely surprised to find that it was the Padawan Learner who had saved Ulara Tinni's life, not the Jedi Master.

. . .

When the inquiry came, Qui-Gon told the Jedi Council everything.

Somehow, the fact that the Jedi Council agreed with his actions made him feel even worse. Yoda himself told Qui-Gon there was nothing that he could have done; the situation was lost, either way. Qui-Gon wondered if they would have come to the same decision had Ulara died. What Yoda seemed concerned with was why Qui-Gon had felt so guilty, why he had been unable to move or speak after the last battle on Myrkr.

They called Qui-Gon's reactions "post-traumatic Force dissonance" and had him speak to a young Jedi Healer named Odan Le-ti once a week. Qui-Gon found the whole process ironic and pointless, especially since Odan had only recently been made a Knight. Qui-Gon spent most of their weekly "sessions" giving the young man advice on his study of the Force and discussing galactic culture. After several sessions, Odan finally asked him why he hadn't been able to move that day.

Qui-Gon only told him, "Because I had already done enough."

Odan probably assumed Qui-Gon meant that he had been too tired and too injured to do anything, and perhaps he had been. What he meant was that he'd already done everything wrong. Had he tried to help Ulara after Beorx cut her throat, he suspected she would have died. He had done enough, and none of it had been good.

Odan told him it was likely the head wound had put him into shock, and after that, Qui-Gon only saw Odan when he passed him by chance in the halls of the Jedi Temple.

Ulara herself, a fresh scar on her throat, told him there was nothing to apologize for when he offered them to her. "There was nothing you could have done, Master Jinn. Beorx would have killed us all, had he the chance. You were right not to put Obi-Wan in danger as well. I would have made the same decision, had I been you. Stop blaming yourself. You're only human, after all."

She was chilly with him, and her manner had grown stiff. She rarely spoke to anyone and spent a lot of time with the Jedi Healers. Qui-Gon soon realized that this was a result over what Beorx had done to her, not because of anything Qui-Gon had done.

Her fingers were replaced with durasteel prosthetics. She tended to tap them on hard surfaces often, especially when Qui-Gon was around. The sound of what was once flesh clacking against a wall or a table affected him so viscerally he often had to flee her presence. He wondered if she did it on purpose to torment him, but when he looked at her face he found nothing but neutrality in it. He often wondered why he felt so guilty for what had been done to her. It didn't take him long to realize it was because he often wondered if he could have saved her if he hadn't been injured in the fight with the predators. Perhaps it was even because he was relieved it was she was who suffered at Beorx's hands instead of Obi-Wan.

Her baby was born nine months later. Qui-Gon was never sure why she hadn't aborted the child, but it was not his place to question her decision. Ulara named the baby Kagun-Ri, denying him her last name, though she'd had his cheek tattooed in the custom of her people. He grew to resemble his father in form, but Qui-Gon was immensely relieved to find that Kagun-Ri resembled his mother in spirit. Shortly after Kagun-Ri's birth, Ulara left him in the care of the Jedi Temple and requested an off-planet assignment. They gave it to her without argument. Keelala - whose home world remained a mystery since she could not tell them, and her race was unrecorded - went with her. Keelala seemed content with this.

Ulara told Obi-Wan good-bye personally, but did not come to wish Qui-Gon farewell. He sought her out before she left, finding her just as she was about to board the airspeeder that would take her to the spaceport. Keelala rode on her shoulder, absently picking at her fur. Qui-Gon put a hand on Ulara's arm to stop her, but immediately withdrew it when she flinched and drew back. Qui-Gon suspected it would be a long time before Ulara would be able to let a man touch her again without flinching.

"I came to wish you well in the future."

She smiled at him, the expression harsh on her ravaged features. "I appreciate that, Master Jinn. I will be fine. And so will you."

Qui-Gon nodded and turned to Keelala when he realized she was tugging on his robes. "Keelala will miss Qui," she said sadly, and planted a sloppy kiss on his face.

Qui-Gon smiled at her. "Good-bye, Keelala. Take care of yourself and Ulara for me."

Keelala nodded as Ulara pulled her hood over her face and boarded the airspeeder, calling out to Qui-Gon as the driver lifted off. "Watch over my son for me, Master Jinn. Make sure he receives a good Master, when his time comes. One who will care for him as you care for Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon wondered if she meant to mock him with that last sentence. He wondered if Ulara knew of his attachment. He wondered how she could _not_ know. Every Master came to be attached to their Padawan in some degree. It was inevitable.

Time wore on. Obi-Wan became more careful and even more apt to question Qui-Gon about his decisions, but despite his headstrong nature, he listened more.

Qui-Gon often wondered if Obi-Wan blamed him for what happened on Myrkr, but he wasn't brave enough to ask. He loved Obi-Wan as a son, but he could never articulate that, never place that burden on his apprentice. He distanced himself as much as possible, allowing Obi-Wan to go on solo missions more and more. Qui-Gon spent a lot of time preparing himself for the day when Obi-Wan was ready to leave him. After a while, it became easier and easier to separate himself, to worry less, to allow Obi-Wan to grow apart. He had high hopes for Obi-Wan, and he knew that one day Obi-Wan would become a greater Jedi than he was.

He never regretted protecting Obi-Wan or killing Beorx; the only thing he did regret was his total lack of it. He spent many a night replaying what happened on Myrkr, coming up with alternate plans, things he could have done differently. Some ended better than others.

And some things were best left forgotten.

_End._


End file.
